


The Strongest Weapon

by griffindork93



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griffindork93/pseuds/griffindork93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss has never been great with words. Or love really. But that day on the train, on the way back to 12, she doesn't let Peeta walk away. She won't let the Capitol define her. If she chooses Peeta, it's because she wants to be with him and not because President Snow expects it of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Every time I read a Hungers Games fanfiction in which Katniss realizes she loves Peeta, this scene pops in my head, demanding to be written. I want to write a story where they work for a relationship and where we really get to see Katniss exploring her emotions for the baker.
> 
> This series belongs to Suzanne Collins.

The train begins moving and we’re plunged into night until we clear the tunnel and I take my first free breath since the reaping. Effie is accompanying us back and Haymitch, too, of course. We eat an enormous dinner and settle into silence in front of the television to watch a replay of the interview. With the Capitol growing farther away every second, I begin to think of home. Of Prim and my mother. Of Gale. I excuse myself to change out of my dress and into a plain shirt and pants. As I slowly, thoroughly, wash the makeup from my face and put my hair into its braid, I begin transforming back into myself. Katniss Everdeen. A girl who lives in the Seam. Hunts in the woods. Trades in the Hob. I stare in the mirror as I try to remember who I am and who I am not. By the time I join the others, the pressure of Peeta’s arm around my shoulders feels alien.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink-and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

Gale. The idea of seeing Gale in a matter of hours makes my stomach churn. But why? I can’t quite frame it in my mind. I never gave as much thought to Gale as I have now that the Games are over. Putting on an act of a pair of lovers head over heels for each has changed how I look at both Gale and Peeta.

Falling in love was never on my list of things to do. Surviving was more important. There was no time for a relationship when I had to guarantee there was enough food in the house to feed Prim. All of that changed since I was reaped. Now I have no choice but to continue to play the girl that had fallen hard for the boy that was hopelessly in love with her.

But what do I truly feel for Peeta? I had sworn off of love after watching how it destroyed my mother. Loving someone else only hurt you.

However, that wasn’t the case with me and Peeta. His love saved me. Saved us. He got both of us out of the Games. The gamemakers would have never made that rule change if Peeta hadn’t announced his love for all of Panem to see during his interview.

Thinking of Peeta’s love in turn caused me to think of my feelings for Gale, which caused the churning in my stomach to intensify. During the train ride I had taken the time to think back on several interactions with Gale, and I had come to the stunning realization that my best friend must have had feelings for me.

It made it that much harder for me to choose between them. I knew Gale better. I was closer to him. We shared the same pain, pain that Peeta couldn’t possibly understand. But Gale was family. I never looked at him as more than a brother. And Peeta. I owed Peeta my life and that of my mother’s and sister’s. I’ve been indebted to him since that day he burnt the bread.

How could I possibly go on with this act when he believed it was true? How could I manipulate his feelings so cruelly? So my family could live? Peeta deserved better than to love a girl that wouldn’t love him back.

He must have seen my turmoil on my face. “What’s wrong?” Peeta asks.

“Nothing,” I answer. I don’t have the words to say how I feel yet. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I’m fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. I can’t look at him until I know what I’m going to say. Who I’m going to choose.

“What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me.

“It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out.

“What? What are you talking about?” he says.

“It seemed too rebellious. So, Haymitch has been coaching me through the last few days. So I didn’t make it worse,” I say.

“Coaching you? But not me,” Peeta says.

“He knew you were smart enough to get it right,” I say.

“I didn’t know there was anything to get right,” says Peeta. “So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess . . . back in the arena . . . that was just some strategy you two worked out.”

Peeta’s accusation make me angry. A strategy Haymitch and I worked out! “Selling the star-crossed lovers was yours and Haymitch’s idea. I wasn’t even aware of that plan.”

“But you went along with it. You knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.”

“Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding onto my flowers.

“Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says.

“I don’t know,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming.

“We’ll, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable.

I watched him turn away from me, his shoulders stiff. He couldn’t walk away from me. From us. Not now. All I could think about was how I couldn’t survive without him. In the end, that was what my choice would have come down to. Gale or Peeta. Which one could I survive without?

Unbidden, words sprang from my mouth. “Wait, Peeta. Please.”

He stopped, maybe from the surprise of me saying please. I was well known around District Twelve for many things, but manners were not one of them. Or maybe he hadn’t expected me to call out for him. I know I hadn’t intended to, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“That’s not what I meant to say. It’s not like that. I mean . . .” I try to explain, stumbling helplessly over the words. Angrily, I throw the wildflowers Peeta gifted to me to the ground. “I’m just supposed to wield the bow. This is your job.”

He turned around to look at me, baffled. “My job?” he repeated. “To what? Lie and rip my own heart out? To mislead you so I could live?”

“That’s not what I meant at all, Peeta. Just give me a chance. You’re much better with words than I am,” I pleaded. Even to myself, I couldn’t explain why the pain etched across his face when he turned back towards me felt like Clove was brandishing a knife to my neck once more.

Peeta’s blue eyes soften. He crosses the short distance between in what seems like ages to me, and reaches for my left hand. Gently, he intertwines his fingers with mine and raises our joined hands. “Look at me. Just tell me how you feel.”

Just like with our chariot entrance, Peeta is making the first move. This whole time, he’s been taking the lead and I’ve been bumbling about trying to make it believable.

I swallow. My mouth feels as dry as it had in the first hours of the Games when I was desperately searching for water, but I owed him at least that. Peeta had saved my life and my family’s lives twice now.

“I never wanted to fall in love,” I start. “Loving my father destroy my mother. She couldn’t take care of herself let alone Prim and I. If you hadn’t given me that bread, we wouldn’t have survived the winter.” Peeta’s eyes darkened with sorrow at my admittance. Thankfully, he didn’t interrupt though. “Your confession. Haymitch’s strategy. Caught me completely unaware. Haymitch said you had made me look desirable, that he could sell the star-crossed lovers.”

I bite my lower lip. Peeta brushes the pad of his thumb across my knuckles, silently encouraging me. “When he said that, I thought it was your angle. An act on your part as well. That way the Capitol would keep us both alive until the very end and get their entertainment by pitting us against each other.”

His other hand comez up to cover our still clasped hands. His grip tightensalmost painfully, but I say nothing. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you, Katniss. I love you. I would never hurt you.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t learn that until I found you, almost dead, because of Cato. And when I learned it was real, I couldn’t help but hate you for it.”

He reels back like I had punched him. “Why?”

“Because,” I burst out, “It was unfair of you to unexpectedly declare your love for me. Especially right before the Games. Did you really expect me to fall for you in the arena? When I had to fight to get out, and doing so would mean you would have to die? There is never more than one victor. Twenty-four of us go in and only one comes out. What if they hadn’t made that rule change? What if they hadn’t given in when I pulled out the berries?”

My voice cracks. I didn’t need him to answer the question. We both knew the answer. Peeta had already asked me to kill him. Without that monumental change to the unwritten rules, any love that might have been would have been killed along with him. Peeta’s soft hands cup my face and he rests his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not fair of me to expect you to return my feelings.”

My eyes burn. Tears of frustration, of anger, of pain, of regret, finally start to fall. Here we stood, beside the train tracks in the middle of District Eight, and he was apologizing to me when I had just broken his heart.

“Please,” I say, for the second time. “Let me continue.”

“Alright.”

“I don’t love you, Peeta,” I ignore the way he flinches, “but that’s not to say that I can’t.” His smile is brilliant. “I do care for you, Peeta. I have feelings for you. I don’t know what they are, but I want to find out. I want to give us a try. Is that okay? Will you give me a chance?”

I stare at him anxiously. His answer is automatic. “Always. I’m sorry for not giving you a chance the first time. I didn’t mean to force you to love me. I’ll take whatever you can give me, Katniss, so long as it’s what you truly feel.”

We walk hand in hand back to the train. The wildflowers that he had thoughtfully picked for me remain in the dirt. I leave behind all thoughts of Gale along with the flowers that reminded me of him. “Where does this leave us when we get back to District Twelve?” he asks.

“We play the lovers for the camera to keep Snow appeased. And our private life stays private. If we’re going to give this a shot, it’s going to have to be real. Just you and me. No cameras. You didn’t want the Capitol to change you. I don’t want them to define me. Anything that happens between us is because we want it.”

“Okay,” he says simply.

We board the train. Peeta apologizes to a critical Effie for the time it took us to get on. Haymitch studies us as we make a break for down the hall to our rooms. He has a bottle of alcohol in his hands, but his eyes are clear, wondering what has changed in the two tributes he mentored.

I am in no mood to clue him in. I drag Peeta down the train. We reach my door first and stand awkwardly outside it.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says.

I tighten my grip on his hand before he can let go and pull him towards me. Our lips meet and move against each other, and this time, it feels different. Because this is the first kiss we’ve shared that is just for us.

“There’s no cameras here,” I whisper against his mouth.

He smiles again. It suits him. Peeta’s whole face lights up when he smiles and it’s so congenial it makes you want to smile as well. “I love you. Good night.”

For the first night since the Games have ended, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

It does not stay there.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm back in the woods beyond District Twelve's fence. The familiar sounds of animals scurrying about fill my ears and I drink in the sight of the lush green, natural forest. I recognized the distinctive gaits of squirrels and rabbits. Birds chirped loudly overhead. In the distance I could even hear the musical voice of a mockingjay.

I wanted to take off my boots, curl my toes into the soft green grass, and twirl until I couldn't see straight. I had done it. Me. A Seam girl from District Twelve had won the Hunger Games. I made it back home to Prim; just like I promised her.

There was no longer any need for me to hunt. As a Victor, I'm set for life. A house large enough to fit me, Prim, and my mother with room to spare. One that won't get cold in the winter, forcing sweet Prim out of her bed and into mine so she doesn't freeze at night. There's more food than we can eat, even when we're actually getting three square meals a day.

And the money. Now that I have everything I've ever needed and all the things I desperately tried to provide for Prim, what was I supposed to spend it on?

Perhaps I could use it to help the Hawthornes. They were practically family. If not for Gale, I would have never managed to feed my family.

When dad passed away in the mining accident, the same one as Gale's father, I was only a fledgling hunter. I could string and shoot the bow, but my aim was a far cry from what it was today. Gale showed me how to make snares and how to move silently. It was more about making your footsteps match the sounds the forest was making and not about moving without making any noise whatsoever. In return, I shared my father's knowledge of edible plants.

With all the fanfare about District Twelve having two Victors, the district has been closely monitored. Although, the increased camera coverage and security was probably a result of me pissing Snow off. And with Gale working six days out of the week in the mine . . . well, Gales's situation wasn't a pretty picture. His siblings, Rory, Vick, and Posy, must be starving. The least I could do was hunt for him, since he was too prideful to simply accept food or money from me.

Unconscious and unbidden, I find myself standing at the edge of the lake where my father taught me to swim.

I crouch; dipping a hand into the crystal clear water, searching for the plant in knew was there. The leaves above the water's surface were arrowhead shaped, something I appreciated now that I was a hunter. The katniss plant suited me very well. Soon, the stems would be long enough for the white flowers to bloom.

My fingers wrap around the base and I yank, pulling the roots free from the sediment. I clean the dirt off before eating it. They weren't particularly tasty, but like my father had said, as long as I could find myself, I would never starve.

A loud splash echoed in the clearing. My head jerked up so fast I heard the vertebrae in my neck crack. For a minute, all I could do was stare in disbelief at the scene in front of me. Then in horror when blinking didn't make it go away.

"This can't be real," I mutter. "It can't be."

Peeta was being dragged through the water by one of the Game's Mutts. The beast tore its teeth from the baker's legs, eliciting a painful scream, and turned its snarling jaw dripping blood at me.

It was a monstrous animal. Easily chest high on four legs. Its blonder fur was matted and brown in places. Dried blood, I realized. Peeta was not the creature's first victim.

Malice shone in its blue eyes. It raised its head, sniffing the air. Without looking way, I reached a hand behind me, feeling for the bow I had set down. The Mutt turned away from me in favor of trying to tear Peeta's leg off.

"Peeta, no!"

The arrow sliced through the air, embedding itself deep in the side of the beast's flank. The second arrow, which had been nocked as soon as I released the first, quickly followed, finding home in the thing's left eye.

I scrambled to my feet, barely managing to get the large longbow over my shoulder in my haste to reach Peeta. I knelt beside him, gently brushing wet curls away from his face. "You're going to be just fine, Peeta. I'll get us back to Victor's Village and my mother will fix this."

Peeta raised a shaking hand to the side of my face. He wiped up tears I didn't know I was crying.

"Please don't cry, love. Smile for me. You don't know how beautiful you are when you smile."

I managed a weak smile for him. "There. See?" I cast about frantically, looking for something to wrap his mangled leg in. Inadvertently, my eyes landed on the monster.

"Cato?" I breathed. There was no doubting it. The Mutt had Cato's eyes. My heart was beating uncontrollably. Cato wasn't one of the Mutt's he had been killed by them. Torn apart until I put an arrow in him. How had this happened? And how did he get to District Twelve?

Peeta moaned, snapping me out of my thoughts. I didn't have time to question why Mutt Cato was at the lake. I had to get Peeta medical attention.

With no small amount of effort, I heaved Peeta's heavy frame upright. With his arm held around my shoulder and me taking all the weight off his left side, we managed to get out of the water.

I was completely surprised when Peeta shoved me away from him. I went sprawling, slamming my head against the hard ground with enough force to see stars. A dark brown blur shot between us, knocking him over. Another Mutt was crouched over Peeta, who looked unconscious. I didn't hesitate to launch another arrow.

The second Mutt leapt away from Peeta, whirling to face me since I was the bigger threat. And my arrow, intended for the foul monster, pierced Peeta's chest.

Before I could feel horrified for what I had done, the Mutt threw itself at me, jaws aimed to tear out my throat.

I struggled fruitlessly. While not as huge as the Cato Mutt, this one was still stronger than me. I craned my neck away, ignoring how the thing was slobbering all over me. I needed to kill it. Peeta would die without me.

With one mighty shove, the Mutt was removed. I rolled to the side, avoiding its lunge, and come up on hands and knees with a rock in hand, which I hurled. The stone hit its target; the Mutt's nose, causing it to yelp and recoil in pain and shock.

I dug a hand into the inside pocket of my hunting jacket, retrieving the knife I kept there. Although I couldn't remember when I started that habit.

The beast came at me again. This time, I twisted sideways. The blade flinted in the sun as it flashed down, thrust with as much force as I could muster into the Mutt's neck. The carcass hit the ground with an impossibly loud thud. T took one look, expecting to see the face of Clove, Cat's district partner, and regretted it.

It was not her face I saw. It was Gale's.

I sank to my knees, dry heaving. I had just murdered my best friend. My only friend, if I was honest. I was friendly with Madge, who was the Mayor's daughter, but I wouldn't label us as friends.

But Gale, he was my rock. After our father's died and Prim was all I had left, he showed me how to feed my family. And I had just killed him.

Pushing down the revulsion I felt for myself, I crawled to Peeta's side. I grabbed his hand but he didn't react. I lifted it, pressing two fingers to his wrist.

Nothing. There was no pulse.

I threw myself on top of him, wailing. "Peeta, please wake up. This isn't funny. You can't be dead, Peeta. Peeta!"

* * *

I woke screaming his name. I pressed a hand over my heart in a pointless attempt to slow its frantic beating. I blinked when the door to my room slide open and the hallway's light flooded in, dimly realizing that I was still on the train.

"Katniss? Are you alright?" Peeta's figure was illuminated in the door frame. Not that I needed light to know who it was. Even if Peeta wasn't the only one concerned enough to check on me in the aftermath of the Games, I recognized him by voice alone. Peeta's voice was always full of complex emotions when he talked to me. Love was always there, no matter how much he tried to hide it. His voice was soft and gentle and sweet and full of concern for me. If it had been Haymitch or god forbid Effie, I would have expected to be mocked drunkenly or shrilly reprimanded for my bad sleeping manners.

"I . . . I'm fine."

"Right," he sighed. "If you're sure." I didn't say anything and he turned to go.

Crushing disappointment gripped me. I wanted . . . no, I needed Peeta to stay. He was so good at taking my mind off the horrors of the Games.

"Wait. Could you . . .?" My throat tightened. Peeta was at my side in an instant.

"What is it? Do you want a glass of water?" it wasn't what I wanted, but now that he mentioned it, my throat was parched. So I nodded. Anything to keep him in my room a little longer.

He pressed the cool glass into my hand. I automatically brought it up, drinking it down like Haymitch consumed alcohol. Peeta chuckled good-naturedly when I drained it, directing a sheepish smile at him, and headed back to the bathroom to refill it.

I sipped it and set it down on the nightstand. "Would you stay with me?" I whispered. Peeta pulled back, his blue eyes widening in shock. Hastily, I backtracked. "I mean . . . you don't have to. I just thought—"

"No!" Peeat said firmly, before I could say that I'd be alright if he left. "I don't mind. Not at all." He slipped under the blanket and pulled me so we were lying in the center of the bed with my back to his chest. His right arm settled comfortably over my hip.

We laid in companionable silence. Peeta's breathing tickled the back of my neck. It was so even I though he had fallen asleep already.

"Nightmare?" he questioned, softly.

I bit my lip. I didn't want to admit I was having nightmares. Most nights I dreamt of the Games. When Rue died in my arms. When I found Peeta hiding half dead near the river. Only he was dead in my nightmares. He would beg me to join him or blame me for killing him. Cato and the Mutts stared in my dreams frequently as well.

I shuddered at the reminder of my most recent nightmare. Peeta hugged my trembling form even closer to him. Each night, much like I just had, I'd jerk awake in cold sweat, screaming or about to. Getting back to sleeping afterwards was always difficult.

Admitting that I suffered from nightmares meant I had to admit that the Games still had a hold on me. And until it was absolutely necessary, I wanted to leave them behind. Forget all about them until it was time for the Victory Tour.

The nightmares were a weakness. A weakness I couldn't afford. I could only imagine how badly I would frighten Prim if she woke to my screams.

"I have them too."

I rolled over to face him. Peeta's expression was serious, but I didn't believe him. I told him that.

He laughed wryly. "I promise, Katniss. Sometimes I'm too scared to fall asleep."

"But I never hear you screaming." I felt guilty for not noticing that he was having trouble sleeping. After everything we had shared in the Games, knowing he had been watching me as often as possible since we were five, I was positive that Peeta already knew about my nightmares.

"That's because I don't scream," he answered. "My body stiffens. Locks up and I can't move until it's over."

I frown. That sounded worse. Knowing it's not real but not able to do anything about it because he couldn't move.

"Do you want to tell me what yours was about? It might help," he said.

I seriously considered his offer. Maybe the ones about the Games, but I couldn't possibly divulge this one. It was too personal. "What are yours about?" I countered.

Peeta grinned winningly, clearly thinking my asking meant I was agreeing. "I'll share my demons and then you'll tell me yours." Or not. He offered me a deal I couldn't refuse. I really wanted to know if his nightmares were anything like mine and if Peeta confided in me, there was no way for me to pretend mine were inconsequential.

"Alright."

He wrapped himself completely around me. If there was any space between us before, there certainly wasn't anymore. "Mine are always about you."

"Me," I repeated, surprised. That was the last thing I was expecting. I thought for sure it would be the Mutts responsible for the loss of part of his left leg. It hurt unbearably to hear that Peeta was afraid of me. I tried to escape hi arms but he refused to loosen his grip.

"It's not like that, Katniss. I dream of losing you."

I stop struggling. I wasn't expecting that either. Peeta's soft admittance stirred something. My stomach felt all fluttery.

His deepest fear was losing me. My nightmare appeared childish in comparison. I was afraid of my feelings for him, and those for Gale. Scared that by letting myself feel something for him, I was inviting myself to get hurt.

Nevertheless, I recounted my nightmare. Peeta's response was to clutch me all the tighter.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Katniss. You don't have to proclaim your undying love for me. Just let me be with you. Let me help you. That's all I ask."

I swallowed. "Okay."

"Okay?" he asked.

"I'll allow it."

Peeta rested his chin on top of my head. "Thank you."

I didn't feel like I had said or done anything deserving of thanks, but didn't ask why he had said that. Instead I said, "Stay with me? Until I fall asleep."

"Always."

Peeta's embrace chased the nightmares away and I slept peacefully for the first night since we left the Capitol. Judging by the bright smile on his face when Effie demanded we get up, scolding us on how very improper it was for Peeta to be in my bed, he had a peaceful night's sleep as well.

"I'll see you at breakfast?" I nodded. He kissed my forehead and left for his room.

I felt refreshed and ready to face the day. Then I remembered we'd arrive back in Twelve soon and Peeta and I would be surrounded by cameras.

I flopped back down on the bed and inhaled the scent of bread and cinnamon that always lingered around the baker's son. Maybe I could pretend Effie never woke me up.

"Don't tell me you're still asleep in there sweetheart?" Haymitch's voice sounded outside me door. "I will set Effie on you. If I have to be up, so do you."

Or not. Damn Haymitch.


	3. Chapter 3

Haymitch raised his glass of scotch whiskey when I entered the dining car, draining it and refilling it from the bottle sitting by his elbow. Which was already half empty and it was only half past nine in the morning. And considering that he had just fetched me not ten minutes ago, drinking so much already meant that he was upset or stressed.

Not that I blamed him. The train would arrive back in District Twelve by eleven.

It would be a fanfare. Even just one Victor from District Twelve would have been a cause for celebration. The last time the mining district had won had been Haymitch’s Games, and all I knew was that it was before I was born. The winning district received extra supplies from the Capitol, which District Twelve was in desperate need of.

But this was the first time in the history of the Games that there were two Victors. Me and Peeta. The train station was going to be chaos, flooded with people celebrating our return. Celebrating that we folded to the system and killed other children.

It sickened me. I could hardly stomach the idea of breakfast. But I didn’t doubt that Haymitch would set the harpy of an escort on me.

“Oh, Katniss, dear, from now on you simply must be on time. The Capitol is going to have cameras waiting for us when we arrive and it is the height of rudeness to be late,” Effie lectured. “Now come sit and eat. I was just telling Peeta what to expect.”

I automatically took the seat next to Peeta, who slipped a hand under the table to grasp mine. I gave him a small frown and took my hand away. His generally open face closed, and he pointedly turned to Effie and asked her a question I didn’t hear.

I was too busy staring at her bright orange monstrosity of a dress and the matching wig.

“It’s just going to be a short interview piece,” she explained, daintily spreading a flavored butter on a warm scone.

I choked on the mango I had just taken a bite of. Peeta slapped me on the back of couple of times until I was only wheezing. “Interview?” I gasped.

Haymitch snorted, forgetting his glass and drinking straight from the bottle. “You need all the coaching you can get, sweetheart.”

Peeta poured me a glass of water. I accepted it, reddening as I remembered last night. Only hours before hand we had promised to take this relationship thing slow, and I practically begged for him to join me in my bed.

“Haven’t you been listening, Katniss?” Effie’s, thankfully white, not orange, lips scowled. Or at least I think she did. It was hard to tell under the foot of make she was wearing. “There’s going to be a crew to film your return home and your reunions with your families. Afterwards it’ll be a quick stop at Victor’s Village so all of Panem can see your new homes, and that’ll be that. Of course, you’ll have to choose your hobbies still and there is a lot of preparation to be done for the Victory Tour in six months.”

My heart started beating rapidly. The sound drowned out the shrill voice belonging to Effie Trinket. My victory finally sunk in. I had just won the Seventy-Fourth Hunger games. I kept my promise to Prim. I was going to see her again.

Peeta abruptly excused himself from the table and quickly exited the room. I stared after him a moment before following him. I was so nervous now that I couldn’t possibly finish.

I found him pacing in his room. He jumped when I slipped in through the open door and closed it behind me.

“What are you doing here?” he asked wearily.

“Are you alright?” I asked instead, ignoring his question.

He sat heavily on the bed, rumpling the perfectly made spread. “What are you doing here, Katniss?” he repeated. “I thought you were going to give me a chance. Give us a try. But the first chance you got you pulled away from me.”

“I meant what I said. I want it to be private. Just you and me,” I said hotly, defending myself. There was absolutely no need for Effie to see us together.

Peeta brought his head up to gape at me in disbelief. “That vulture has eyes in the back of her head that could see through concrete.”

Slowly, the incredulity turned into amusement. There was a definite sparkle in his baby blue eyes. “So you’d be okay if I touched you here?”

The baker’s son stood, taking two steps aware from the bed in order to pull me towards him. He linked our hands, raising them between us at chest height, much like we had done on the chariot rides at the start of the Games. I was acutely aware of how rough and strong and calloused his hands were.

“Yeah,” I whispered. And then he was kissing me.

I hesitated only a second before kissing him back. This one was nothing like all the ones we had already shared. While I had kind of liked kissing Peeta, not that I would ever admit that to anyone, they had always been awkward, because I had only been pretending for the cameras.

That was what made this one different. We weren’t kissing for the cameras or the audience. It wasn’t expected of us here, alone in his room on a train back to District Twelve. My stomach twisted almost painfully. It felt tight like it had after my father passed and my family was starving.

Which was stupid because I had been well fed since the end of the Games. Aside from skipping breakfast, I had eaten to the point of bursting, wanting to be able to tell Prim about all of the food. Her face would light up imagining how each dish tasted.

The bedroom door opened. I hastily shoved Peeta away and directed my gaze at the floor. This time he wasn’t wounded by my pushing him away. He laughed.

“Don’t you two lovebirds ever stop?” drawled Haymitch.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Peeta promised. Haymitch gifted us with a sarcastic look, but withdrew from the doorway. His footsteps echoed down the hall.  “Are you alright?” he asked gently.

“Why are you always comforting me? I just hurt you,” I said, confused.

Peeta shook his head. I couldn’t help but watch his hair move from side to side, falling in blond waves in front of his eyes. “It was a misunderstanding, Katniss. We talked about it. I overreacted. I know you’re not good with words,” he teased, and my nose scrunched up as a scowled, “but so long as we talk whenever we have a problem, we’ll be fine.”

“Right,” I said dubiously.

Peeta cupped both my hands between his; they dwarfed mine. “Don’t give up before you start, Katniss. I’m not asking you to reveal your darkest secrets or innermost thoughts. Just let me know if I do something that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Alright.” This time it was said strongly. “I can do that.”

“Good,” he smiled. “Now, let’s go apologize to Effie for our hasty departure and hope she doesn’t talk our ears off about proper breakfast etiquette.”

He held out his hand slightly, giving me the choice on whether or not to grab it. Peeta waited patiently while I debated. Did it really matter if Effie saw us holding hands?

I grabbed his head, threading my fingers through his. Peeta’s smile could have melted ice. Effie already thought we were some darling couple anyway. She’d probably only bat her eyelashes annoyingly and coo how adorable we were.

I had promised to give Peeta’s love a chance. Our fake act wouldn’t hold up forever. I couldn’t shy away every time he tried to touch me.

* * *

Peeta and I stood before the train’s door. We had pulled up to the platform several minutes ago and the Peacekeepers had stepped off first to clear away the crowd of people pushing towards the train. The formed a white barrier on the edge of the platform, a wall of people.

Even behind the metal door, I could hear them cheering. I felt the same now as when I had mounted the stairs to Effie when I volunteered. Dazed and not knowing how I was still standing.

The yells were deafening when Peeta and I stepped into view. First in line to greet us was Mayor Undersee. But I wasn’t paying any attention to him.

Off to the side stood a familiar head of blonde hair, braided in two braids just like it had been two weeks ago when I last saw her. She was crying again, but this time it was tears of happiness at my homecoming.

“Prim!”

At my shout, Prim broke away from our mother’s hold and flew into my arms. I knelt, hugging her close as she cried into my shoulder. I ran my hand along the back of her head soothingly until she had composed herself.  

“Prim,” I said softly. The noise of the train station faded.

“You came back.”

“Yes, I came back. Just like I promised you, little duck.”

“Up you get now, dears.” Effie’s voice broke through my bubble. I wanted to glare at her for interrupting us, but was stopped by what looked suspiciously like tears clinging to her no doubt fake eyelashes.

I rejoined Peeta, who was already standing next to the mayor. His whole face was alight with happiness, for what reason I didn’t know. I kept Prim beside me, unwilling to have her far from me now that I had her back.

Madge’s father made a speech about both he and District Twelve were proud of their two Victors, and how honored they were to be home to such a historic finale of the Hunger Games. There was a lot more but I didn’t really listen to it. He was only saying what President Snow and everyone else in the Capitol wanted to hear.

“And now, the Victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!”

There were a lot of questions from Capitol journalists. I let Peeta field most of them, only answering when they were directed to me.

“It’s good to be home. The Capitol was amazing, don’t get me wrong. The food was spectacular. Especially the lamb stew. But there’s nothing like coming back home.” As opposed to returning home in a box I thought viciously, struggling to keep a smile on my face.

Peeta wrapped me in a hug, adding his own opinion on how he felt to be back, which the reporters soaked up. All the grandstanding and speeches came to a close quickly after that. We posed for what felt like a hundred pictures, and then came the moment the rest of the world was waiting for.

I blinked when Peeta lifted my chin so that our foreheads were connected and our noses brushed against each other. “Can I kiss you?”

His mouth barely moved and he had whispered it, but it sounded like he was screaming to me.

“You don’t have to ask for permission.” I replied in the same manner. His eyes, so blue from such a short distance, shone with joy.

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

It was a short kiss, but it left me breathless nonetheless. Then it was time to head to Victor’s Village. Peeta offered me his elbow and I took Prim’s hand in my own. The camera’s dogged our steps away from the train station, through the center square, and up the main road to the most luxurious section of District Twelve.

It was only as we were herded off the platform that I noticed the Mellarks, standing on the fringe of the wall of Peacekeepers. Peeta’s mother was harsh and unmoving, serious frown on her face. His father and elder brothers, on the other hand, looked relieved to see him.

But not one of them had come forward to greet him or hug him or cry their joy at his unexpected return. They stood still as statues as we descended the steps, eyes locked on us.

I glanced at Peeta, wondering what he thought of his family’s odd reaction. I had thought they’d be overjoyed to have Peeta back. I know he had said his mother outright admitted that she thought he had no chance. Not that anyone from District Twelve ever did.

He had been hurt and angry then, but Peeta seemed unconcerned now. Or maybe he didn’t see them. Whichever, I resolved to not say anything. It wasn’t my place to interfere.

But I did tighten my grip on Prim’s hand.


	4. Chapter 4

“One of the outer districts, this is nonetheless a crucial one. These brave and hardy workers descend deep into the earth each day to mine the coal that keeps our nation running.”

That was how District Twelve was introduced each year at the games. It made District Twelve sound like a fabulous place to live. One of the larger districts and definitely the poorest, it was home to eight thousand people. Despite that, we were crowded in three main areas: the Seam, the Town, and the Hob.

But now Peeta and I would move into Victor’s Village. It was roughly a ten minute walk from the town square, but the sheer grandness and luxuriousness of it made it seem like it didn’t belong.

And quite frankly it didn’t. Victor’s Village was an imposing reminder to everyone else in District Twelve that three of their own would live in the lap of comfort while they starved to death in safety.

The houses themselves, twelve in total, were large and gloomy. Although I was definitely biased. Any house would look awful when you had to murder children to earn it.

“Are we going to live here now, Katniss?”

I smile softly at Prim, who walked between Peeta and myself. If it wasn’t for her, I would stay in my house in the Seam. But Prim deserved three meals a day and a house that was never cold. “Yeah, little duck. You’ll have a room all to yourself. And there’ll be plenty of room for Lady and Buttercup. But don’t think you can bring home any more pets,” I playfully scold. She giggles happily and grips my hand a little tighter.

“But I can still sleep with you if I get lonely?”

I didn’t answer her immediately. Instead I snuck a look at Peeta. Her innocent question reminded me of last night, when sharing a bed with him meant neither of us dreamt of the games. I had convinced myself it was a one-time thing. I couldn’t clutch Peeta like Prim would her goat. Last night had been an exception because my nightmare was worse than usual. It wouldn’t happen again, because I didn’t want whatever was going on between Peeta and I to be based on Snow and his twisted Games and expectations.

Peeta was watching us from the corner of his eyes. When the blue orbs flicked my direction, the lines in his face softened. Suddenly, I realize that, while I had Prim with me, he had no one. I had spotted the rest of the Mellarks at the train station, but none of them were walking with us to see where they’d be living now that their son was a Victor.

I frown, unhappy with the realization that Peeta’s family hadn’t bothered to join us or even welcomed their youngest member home.

“Of course you can,” I finally answer Prim. “Why don’t you pick your room first?”

Prim raced up the steps to the house I was given. My mother followed sedately. That left Peeta and I standing in the street between our two houses. His was right across from mine.

His smile looks brittle and his eyes are dim. Peeta’s falling apart in front of me. After all we had been through together; I didn’t want to leave him alone. Not now, anyways.

“Do you want to come over to my house?” I offer, thinking it strange that I actually had a house I’d want to invite people to. Our house in the Seam was small and cramped and even if I had had friends, I wouldn’t have wanted them visiting. “Until your family comes? You could help make lunch. I’m not a very good cook.”

I was more of the cook fresh skinned meat over a fire type. That I could handle. Working ovens and stoves to create the feasts we had been served in the Capitol? Not going to happen.

Peeta shrugs harshly. “My folks are staying above the bakery. The shop’s a lot of work. My mom doesn’t see the point in relocating and have to walk to the store and back every day when they have rooms directly above it.”

His tone was light, as if he understood and agreed with his family’s decision. I thought them unspeakably cruel for leaving Peeta to fend for himself, but I didn’t say that to him.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says, turning away.

“Tonight?” I parrot.

This time his smile is real and a spark of amusement lights up his face. “The Victory Banquet?” he reminds me, and I feel like an idiot for forgetting about it.

Snow was uncharacteristically generous when he doubled the rations District Twelve would receive because two of our tributes won the Hunger Games. It was only fair, he had said, that each Victor was rewarded, and that meant, until next year’s games, District Twelve’s monthly deliveries of food and medicine and everything else would include two portions of the extras that came from having a Victor. Mayor Undersee had decided to celebrate the good fortune with a banquet apparently.

I thought it a bad idea. Better to make sure everyone in the district got food than to waste half the month’s allotted supply on a fancy dinner party I didn’t want to attend.

“Right,” I say. “See you tonight.” Then I turn around and hurry into my house.

It’s large. It could fight ten buildings the size of my old home inside it and still have room to spare. There’s an office and study, which are supposed to be used for my talent. I haven’t the faintest idea what I’m going to do for that. My only talent is hunting, and that’s illegal.

Upstairs are several bedrooms, and Prim’s already claimed the one on the corner overlooking the street. It has two walls with windows and is very bright and very Prim.

I choose one on the other end of the house, not wanting her to hear me screaming and crying at night.

I spend the rest of the day with Prim, telling her about the good parts of the Capitol, like the food, and sending her into fits of hysteria with descriptions of men and women wearing bright fuchsia or lime green and other colors that made you want to close your eyes from fear of being blinded.

My gut twists with each story I share until I have to force the words out of my mouth. I had thought Prim’s presence would be like a balm. That her cheeriness and innocence would chase away memories of the Games. Instead I was reminded of them all too forcefully as I carefully chose what tidbits to share with her.

Was this what the rest of my life was going to be like? Was there nothing that wouldn’t remind me of the Hunger Games?

I felt immensely stupid. Of course there was no escaping. So long as the Games existed I would never be free. And Peeta too. Both of us would have to return year after year to mentor new tributes, most likely to watch them die. In the history of the Games, there had only been four Victors from District Twelve, including Peeta and myself.

I push away all thoughts of the Games. I wasn’t going to let them taint Prim. I had taken her place to keep her safe, to keep her alive. And against all odds I had won.

“Katniss?” she asks, after I fall silent. Besides laughing at the extreme Capitol fashions, there weren’t a lot of good stories I could tell her. I only saw the people through glass windows and as crowds at interviews.

“Is it over?”

“Yes,” I lie immediately. We both know it’s not, that my responsibilities as a Victor means it will never be over, but in a way it is. Prim will never have to spend a sleepless night worrying that the morning’s update on the status of the tributes will say that her sister had been killed.

I survived. I kept my promise to her. And at the moment, that was all that mattered. We were both alive and safe for another year.

“Enough talk,” I decide. “There’s a party tonight and you can try the lamb stew for yourself.”

* * *

The Victory Banquent was tense. I felt more uncomfortable seated at a table with the Mellarks, my mother and Prim, and the mayor and his daughter than I did in the aftermath of the Games with Caesar Flickerman.

The food was delightful, the only good part about the evening, and just about everybody stuffed themselves with as much as they could eat and snuck rolls of breads into the folds of their clothes to take home for tomorrow. Mayor Undersee gave another speech about honor and the Games that had me struggling to keep down the little food I had eaten so far.

“Does this disgust you as much as it does me?” I jerk when Peeta whispers in my ear. Wordlessly, I nod. “Do you want to get out of here?”

I don’t hesitate. I throw down the napkin I was fiddling with and follow him away from the town square. The baker’s wife glares as we walk by and it’s only Peeta’s hand on my wrist that has me passing by her without saying something.

We walk in silence, not towards Victor’s Village like I was anticipating, but towards the fence that marks the boundary of our district.

He leads me straight to the whole in the fence Gale and I use to reach the forest.

“How did you know about this?” I ask.

Peeta turns to face me. “I watched you sneak out a couple of times.”

I blink, surprised by the answer. He had told me in that cave that he always noticed me. Words for the camera, I had thought. Clearly that wasn’t so.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” Peeta states quietly. I flinch at the confession, even though I’ve heard it several times already. Thankfully, Peeta is so lost in his own musing that he doesn’t notice. “What would you have done if I followed you out here?”

“Shot you,” I answer honestly, which elicits a deep laugh. “I would have with the noisy way you walk. You wouldn’t have gone unnoticed,” I defend.

Peeta stops laughing. A shadow crosses his face. As stressful as the end of the Games was and my annoyance at his inability to walk quietly, that was actually a fairly peaceful part of the Games. It didn’t hurt to think about the time spent with Peeta.

I set my jaw. I don’t understand why that upset him but I wasn’t going to apologize. He wanted an answer.

“I suppose we ought to head back,” he says suddenly.

“Right,” I agree hollowly. I don’t want to leave but I can’t see any reason to stay.

That feeling accurately describes most of my interactions with Peeta. So far it’s all been a confusing mix of wanting him to stay while wanting him to leave me alone because I don’t want to get hurt like my mother did.

I don’t want Peeta to become such a large part of me that I don’t know who am without him.

Guilt pools in my stomach. I don’t think there’s anything that will stop me from being afraid of turning out like my mother. Maybe trying for something with him is a waste of time. I’m damaged and it’s not fair to make Peeta deal with that. I’m only going to end up hurting Peeta in the end and he doesn’t deserve that.

We reach the town square but Peeta continues walking. After a moment’s hesitation, I follow. He stops in the center of the street between our houses and kisses me unexpectedly.

Unlike the previous ones, which have been soft and gentle and warm, this one passionate and raw. I kiss him back.

He pulls away to breathe, touching his forehead to mine. “Good night, Katniss.” He kisses me lightly and enters his house.

Tomorrow, I think, staring at the door long after it closes behind him, I’ll tell him I can’t do this.

Robotically, I make my way upstairs and go through the motions of preparing for bed. That night I dream of him dying and my screaming wakes Prim. I assure her that everything’s fine and I don’t need to talk about it.

“Talking is supposed to help,” she murmurs into my stomach. I card fingers through her hair, an activity that usually lulls her to sleep.

“That’s what Peeta said,” I say absentmindedly.

Prim sits up, staring at me with wide blue eyes. “I like Peeta,” she states firmly. “I’m glad you’re with him.”

“Yeah, little duck?” That was the problem, I realize. I like him.

“Yeah. He makes you happy. You deserve to be happy.”

“I was happy without him,” I insist.

“No you weren’t. You were surviving,” Prims says gently. Of course I was surviving. I hunted and foraged illegally in the woods so my family wouldn’t starve. “But now you’re living.”

“When did you become so wise?”

“When Effie pulled my name out of the bowl.”

I automatically pull her small form tighter to me at the casual mention of her Reaping. Illogically, it sounds worse to hear Prim say it than when Effie announced it two weeks ago. Even after all I saw and did in the Games, that was high on the list of my most terrifying moments.

“Everything will be better tomorrow.” Prim yawns.

“Go to sleep,” I tell her. She does readily enough, blonde head resting on my chest. It’s several hours before I fall asleep, unable to get her words out of my head.

Was I only just surviving? Was living better?


	5. Chapter 5

Peeta derailed my plan to put a stop to whatever it was we had. Not because I changed my mind. Even after my talk with Prim I think it is better that I don’t pretend that a relationship is possible when it’s not.

No, it’s because I hadn’t seen him in a seven days.

I knew the boy kept baker’s hours. Despite being a Victor, he still worked in his family’s bakery at least three days this week. Not that I had much room to talk. I was still rising with the sun to hunt in the woods.

Gale could only hunt on Sundays now that he had started working in the mines, but working six days a week and hunting one didn’t provide his family with enough food. I didn’t have much to show for my efforts because the fence had actually been turned on the first four days. The first time I had tried to shoot a wild pig, I had panicked, flashbacks of shooting Marvel overwhelmed me, and I completely missed. The rabbit and two small squirrels I had managed to shoot went straight to Hazelle, who wouldn’t fight me like Gale would if I tried to give them to him.

The only reason I hadn’t cornered him at the bakery is because I didn’t want to air our issues in front of everyone in the Town. Nobody could know we were breaking up because we still had to maintain the image of star-crossed lovers for Snow.

I eyed the sun, which was just beginning to crest the trees. Seeing it rise on that last day in the arena, all I felt was relief. Peeta and I had made it through the night. Both of us had survived the Hunger Games. We were Victors. Now I would never have to worry about whether there would be a tomorrow.

The Gamemakers had spoiled that sense of relief with their announcement revoking the rule change, but that didn’t make the moment any less impactful. The sun was still a sign of hope, much like my dandelions.

I wasn’t letting him escape to the bakery today. I crossed the cobblestone street and let myself into Peeta’s house. Nobody locked their doors in District Twelve, not even those with belongings worth stealing. The whipping you received when you were caught was enough to keep people from stealing. It would be even worse for Victors, who by virtue of who they were and what they were capable of, any thief would think twice if their life was worth less than a set of china plates.

Peeta’s house is an exact mirror of mine, which makes finding the kitchen easy. Soundlessly, I stepped up to the counter in the center of the room, perched atop a stool, and waited. As a hunter, I possessed an enormous amount of patience, but a week was enough to exhaust mine.

I had planned this perfect, choosing to ambush him on a Sunday because it was the one day most everyone in District Twelve bought bread. History classes that detailed the savagery of the Dark Days, before the Capitol, connected it to something called religion.

But it meant that more bread would have to be baked, and that mean Peeta would be helping, because he was too kind to refuse to work on the bakery’s busiest day.

I heard Peeta, with his heavy walk, coming before I saw him. He switched on the light and froze when it revealed the room to not be empty.

“Katniss?” His voice was still husky from sleep, and he blinked several times as if to ascertain that I really was sitting at his kitchen counter. “Wha . . . what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. You’ve been avoiding me,” I scowled.

Peeta turned away from me. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

His delivery was light, like we were making casual conversation. Something about the phrasing tugged at my memory, but I pushed it aside to focus on the blond, who was determined to prepare for his day and not talk to me.

And that more than anything caused my temper to boil over. Peeta was the one that insisted we could make this work if we actually made an effort to communicate, and here he was, actively avoiding me and with nothing to say.

It was all the proof I needed that I had made the right decision in calling off whatever we had. Even Peeta couldn’t be bothered to maintain it for a week.

“If you didn’t want to be with me you could have said so,” I said shortly.

He spun around, eyes wide, and took half a step in my direction. “What? No, I don’t want that. What gave you that idea?”

“You did.” I was back to scowling at him.  “I’ve been trying to talk to you all week.”

Peeta blinked, this time surprised. Then his face lit up with delight. “Really? What about? Are you still having troubles with nightmares?”

Caught off guard by the question, I automatically answered. “Yes.”

“Me too,” he admitted easily. “It’s easier when you’re not alone.”

I felt heat rising to me face at the reminder of the one night we had slept in the same bed. But that was a moment of weakness. It had been several nights since I had slept properly, and I’d wager it was the same for Peeta. I would have done anything if it meant a full night of sleep.

I knew what he was doing. Peeta was trying to putting the decision on me again, like after the spat we had about letting Effie see us holding hands. He thought he was being considerate, but it was actually making this harder. Just because he was already there, as Haymitch would say, didn’t mean that he got to back off until I was.

“I’m fine,” I insisted stubbornly. They were just nightmares. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I wasn’t going to beg Peeta to hold me each night.

His jaw tightened, and suddenly I was reminded that I wasn’t the only Victor suffering from nightmares. _My nightmares are usually about losing you._ Guilt churned in my stomach, but I wasn’t going to take what I said back. If Peeta wanted help with his nightmares he should ask and not beat around the bush.

He could admit his love for me for the Capitol and every district to hear, but couldn’t ask if I’d sleep with him again to stave off shared demons?

“Why can’t you just talk to me, Katniss?” he said, exasperated. “What do I have to do to get you to notice me?”

Disappear, was my first thought. Thankfully, I didn’t blurt that out.

“What do you mean, notice you?” I asked. There it was again. His body had stiffened when he said notice.

With an audible sigh, Peeta moved to lean against the counter in front of the sink. I shifted on the stool to face him. “You said it yourself. If not for the Games you would have never noticed me.”

It took a minute to recall the words I had said the last time I had spoken to baker. “I never said that,” I said confidently.

The blond shrugged. “You might as well. Did you even know my name before I was Reaped?” he demanded.

“Of course I did,” I answered, honestly affronted by the accusation. “You saved my life when you burnt that bread for me.”

“And that’s all I would have ever been. If Prim hadn’t been Reap alongside me, you would have never thought of my as anyone but the boy with the bread.” Peeta sounded resigned. “I would have died and you wouldn’t have felt anything—“

“That’s not true,” I softly interrupted. Peeta gifted me with a dazed look, as if he couldn’t believe I was actually talking about my feelings. “I would feel regret, because I wouldn’t have had the chance to thank you for that night. And I’d probably feel guilty and thankful.”

“Guilty and thankful?” he echoed, confused.

I tried to shrug it off. “Knowing you, you probably would have died protecting Prim.”

His arms were around me in a heartbeat. I unintentionally ended up mimicking my position from the last time he had held like this, as if he could protect me and keep me from falling apart by wrapping me in his arms. My arms came up around his back to clutch at his broad shoulders and my head rested in the curve of his neck. It felt natural and comfortable.

“I would have,” he said directly in my ear. “I would have done everything to make sure she came home to you.”

“I know,” I whispered into his shirt.

“She doesn’t deserve to die in the games. No one does,” Peeta said.

I looked up at him worried. It wasn’t the first time he had mentioned the unfairness and cruelty of the Hunger Game, but it surprised me nonetheless. I don’t think even Gale had the courage to say the Games were wrong within the legal boundaries of the district. And it had always scared me when he defamed the Capitol outside the fence. You never knew when the Capitol was watching and our discussions would have been seen as treason.

“We’re safe,” was all I could say.

For what felt like an eternity, neither of us moved. I would admit, if only in the safety of my own head, that I didn’t want to. It was irrational. My worst fear. But I had never felt safer than in Peeta’s embrace. All that time spent in the cave, I almost could have ignored the Games and pretend it was just the two of us outside District Twelve.

Gale and I had even found a cave during one venture. We didn’t go very far into the mouth when the sound of a large sized animal reached our ears. So we retreated, remembering that spot for future jaunts so that we would know to stay away.

When we finally separated, Peeta rested his forehead against my own. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Distancing myself from you,” he answered. Blue eyes bore into mine, begging for understanding and forgiveness.

I didn’t have either one for him. Not yet. “Why did you do it?” I asked evenly.

He hesitated. “Because I couldn’t stand the idea that you would have never noticed me. I love you, Katniss. And I know that you don’t feel the same. I stand by what I said. I’ll take whatever you can give me so long as it’s honest,” Peeta rushed on.

“What do you want from me, Peeta?”

“A second chance.”

I could hear the pounding of my heart in my ears, and I cursed it for beating so quickly and so loudly. I owed this boy my life. This boy, who had loved me unconditionally since we were five and the birds outside fell silent to listen to me sing. I couldn’t deny him the chance to win my heart.

“Okay. I’ll allow it.” Staring at his open, earnest expression, I wanted to see where this could go. My feelings, whatever they may be, were stronger than I had thought them.

“I think we should start over. Forget everything,” Peeta explained. “We’ll just be two normal people that like each other.”

“But we’re not normal. I’m Seam and your Town,” I argue back. It was pointless to pretend that anything in our lives was normal. Seam married Seam and worked the mines. Town married Town.

“So were your parents,” was his rebuttal.

I stiffened. “That,” I said forcefully, “doesn’t help your point. My mother could hardly function after my father died.”

“But she loved him enough to give up everything she knew to be with him,” he insisted.

“And look where that got her,” I laughed lowly. “A dead husband and a child that hates her for making her support the family when it should have been her responsibility.”

“And Prim,” Peeta reminds me.

Prim, the one bright spot in my life. Pure and innocent. Prim, who thinks I should stop running from my fears and live.

“I would have found the courage to tell you how I felt one on one someday,” he continues. “And I would have been so charming that you’d agree to date me,” Peeta finishes cheekily. To prove his point, he dipped his head and initiated a long kiss.  

“I have to get to the bakery now. Mom’s probably pissed. I’ll see you later?” he asked, tugging on my braid.

“Do you mind if I stay here tonight?”

“Never.”

I felt lighter as I bid Peeta goodbye and snuck out of the fence. This is me, I thought, effortlessly drawing back an arrow as I aimed for a plump bird. I’m the girl that hunts in the woods. Not the Capitol’s girl on fire.

It was the real me that was going to give Peeta Mellark the chance he deserved, because it was what I wanted.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s Peeta that brings up the subject of nightmares again.

“I wouldn’t mind if you stayed the night,” he offered. “I sleep better when I’m with you. The nightmares don’t bother me as much when I can wake up and see that you’re alright.”

After the talk where I cornered Peeta in his kitchen, we established a routine. Both of us, being people that needed to rise with the sun, decided it was easier for us to eat breakfast at Peeta’s house. It was a better alternative than me bumbling about my kitchen and waking Prim and my mother. The boy with the bread always had a plate of cheesy buns, freshly baked and waiting for me. They had quickly topped lamb stew as my favorite food.

Most mornings we didn’t talk. Afterwards, he would head into town and help Mr. Mellark open the bakery and I would sneak underneath the fence, retrieve my bow and quiver from the slightly hollowed tree I hid them in, and lose myself in my hunting.

Hunting was simple or easy anymore. Haymitch would call me a stubborn fool for returning day after day and recommend I have a stiff drink instead of torturing myself. It was unfortunate that my haven now came with reminders of the Games, of children I had hunted and killed. Every time I lifted my weapon and took aim I saw Marvel’s or Cato’s face, stuck through the eye with an arrow I had made.

As had become typical of interactions between me and the district’s resident drunk, I ignored him. I was the girl that hunted in the woods, and I wasn’t going to let the Games take that from me.

It was kill or be killed in the Hunger Games. I felt bad that I had killed. Not of the action itself, but because of its consequences. I had deprived a family of their son. Maybe even a brother. But I would never regret what I had done. It had been necessary to keep my promise to Prim.

I was a hunter. Killing was what I did. I would move on and forget about the Games, just like I had all the others we were forced to watch. With time, the faces would stop haunting me.

I was handling it just fine. I woke from the nightly terrors before crying out so I wouldn’t disturb Prim. Slightly sleep deprived was something I could deal with. I was already getting used functioning on four hours of sleep.

Peeta disagreed. The blond commented that my olive skin looked washed out, asking if I had been sleeping okay. I’d be angry that he was insulting off-handedly if it wasn’t done out of concern.

“Olive?” What was olive?

Peeta hm’ed around a mouthful of cheesy goodness. Swallowing, he said, “It’s a fruit that’s a dark yellowish, green color. You’re skin has that slight warm, yellowish undertone. Reminds me of olives. But you’re getting off topic.”

I set my jaw. “Wasn’t anything to get off of,” I said through gritted teeth. “The Games are fresh. The nightmares will go away in a couple weeks,” I stubbornly insisted.

Peeta was already shaking his head before I had finished speaking. “They won’t, Katniss. You can’t keep running from your problems. Ignoring them will only make it worse.”

“What about you?” I snapped back, not in the mood to deal with the terrors I dreamt of each night. Wasn’t it enough that I had told him one?

“You said on the train you’d let me help,” Peeta reminded, ignoring my question and staring at me determined. I found it impossible to look away from his blue eyes. “Let me help you, Katniss,” he pleaded. “We slept better together.”

I wanted so badly to refuse him, to tell him to back off and mind his own business. Didn’t Peeta realize how much he had helped me already? He saved my family when he gave me that bread, ignited my fighting spirit and reminded me that there was something I could do to ensure Prim was fed. He made me into the survivor that I was.

And, despite its underhandedness, his feelings had made me a popular choice to win the Hunger Games. The Gamemakers would have killed me off earlier for my stunt with the apple if I was just the surly and scowling girl from Twelve.

I owed Peeta, more than he owed me. He didn’t owe me anything, especially considering how stubborn I’ve been. Every time I open my mouth I hurt him.

  1. I realized he had said. Plural. It was his business too, I recognized. I wasn’t the only Victor struggling with nightmares. How could I say no when it granted him a reprieve from his fears too? Ones that revolved around me.



“Just this once,” I said, eyebrows narrowed warningly, inviting him to contradict me. I always paid my debts. Peeta would realize that the night on the train had been a fluke. We had been too exhausted and emotionally drained dream again. Tonight would be like every other night, filled with darkness and death and him dying in my arms as Snow crowns me the Victor with a chain of roses, thorns piercing skin and letting rivulets of blood run down my face.

Peeta flashed me a brilliant grin, uncaring that this arrangement was a one-time thing. “You want to come over after dinner?” he suggested.

I’d rather sneak out of my house when Prim and my mother were down for the night. They would assume I was out in the woods like always. But Peeta looked so happy that I had agreed that I found myself saying I would.

“Great. We can talk about our talents then,” he added, rising from his barstool. I promptly choked on the last of my breakfast. Peeta came over and pounded me on the back with an open hand until I coughed up the partially chewed cheesy bun.

He swept it into the nearby trash bin with a wave of his hand and handed me his half-finished glass of water. I drank it gratefully as he hovered nervously. “Are you alright?” he asked concernedly when I set the empty cup down and took a deep breath.

“What are you talking about? What talents?” I scowled. If Haymitch was keeping things from me I was going to dump every bottle of alcohol he owned down the drain.

Peeta blinked, surprised. “Effie didn’t tell you?”

My scowl deepened at the mention of the overbearing escort. That was even worse. Effie treated everything to do with the Games like it was common knowledge and we should be overjoyed to have been picked to participate. I still hadn’t forgiven her for drawing Prim’s name from the Reaping bowl. Prim’s name was only in there once. One amongst thousands of slips. The odds of her being chosen at her first Reaping were the same as Haymitch giving up drinking. That is to say, no chance at all.

“Tell me what?” I demanded.

“She called yesterday afternoon.” He tipped blond curls in the direction of the telephone mounted on the wall. “Said she’d be coming out to the district to register her pearls’ talents. Apparently,” he said, mouth twisting wryly, “we’re a hot commodity in the Capitol and they’re clamoring to know what we’ll decided. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re placing bets on it.”

Peeta’s joke didn’t even register. All I could feel was panic, and a touch of horror.

“I thought we had until the Victory Tour?” I blurted.

We both flinched at the reminder of the dread Victory Tour, which took place six months after the Games. They were horrible. Worse than knowing I’d be mentoring scared teenagers who didn’t stand a chance at winning. It was the Capitol’s way of twisting the knife into the hearts of the people, making a mandatory parade-like event where the Victor traveled to each district to thank the other tributes for making the Games entertaining and praised the Capitol for putting us in our place in the same breath.

We had five months before it was time to go on the tour.

Peeta shrugged helplessly. “Effie wants it done now.”

“Easy for her to say,” I muttered under my breath. “Not like she has to choose. Her only talent is berating people for lacking proper manners.”

To my surprise, Peeta smirked. The boy was usually disappointed when I criticized our escort, claiming it wasn’t her fault that she was born in the Capitol. “That’s not true. She’s very good at saying the wrong thing, like when she said pearls are made from coal.”

He had a point. Effie’s obliviousness, when it wasn’t irritating me, amazed me.

“At least yours will be easy,” I sighed, frustrated. It was ridiculous that the Capitol forced us to have a talent they could market.

“Oh?” Peeta cocked an eyebrow at me. I scowled reflexively.

“Yeah. You’re an artist,” I said pointedly, remembering how he made his arm look like tree bark during training and that he decorated the cakes Prim loved to fawn over. “I don’t have any talents.”

The other eyebrow shot up to join the first. “That’s not true. Of course you have talents,” he insisted.

I shot him a withering glare. “None that aren’t illegal,” I clarified. My hunting was the worst keep secret in the district. Even before the Games. If the Peacekeepers could afford the kind of food they served in the Capitol, I would have been killed years ago. As it was, their lot was as bad as ours, so none of them cared that I broke the law because it meant they could have fresh meat.

“You have the most beautiful voice,” he complimented softly.

I fought the heat blooming in my cheeks. It wasn’t the first time Peeta had praised my voice, but this time he said it with a raw honesty that betrayed the long love he carried for me. Peeta usually kept such displays of emotion to a minimum to make me more comfortable.

“I don’t want to share that with the Capitol,” I glared down at the countertop, hands fisting the cotton material of my pants. “It’s mine. One of the few memories I have of my father.” I missed how Peeta’s eyes softened sympathetically and his nod of understanding.

Peeta’s rough hands gently unclenched my own, tugging them up onto the counter and curling his fingers around mine. “You don’t have to sing. I’ll tell them you’re my muse and that I only want to paint you. I’d be willing to bet everyone wants a portrait of the Girl on Fire.”

I knew Peeta was trying to distract me and make me feel better, but his words had the opposite effect, reminding me that we wouldn’t be sitting here if not for our popularity and the Capitol’s generosity, which knowing Snow, came with invisible strings.

He cupped my face under the chin, forcing me to look at him. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out together.”

“Right. Together,” I echoed. We were a team. Maybe they would let me pose for Peeta’s paintings. I could handle that.

“Later, though,” Peeta continued. “My mother is going to kill me for being so late.” With a quick kiss, the baker had taken advantage of my not restricting when he could kiss me and was always creating opportunities to do so, Peeta was out the door.

I followed him as far as the door, watching as his broad-shouldered frame made its way down the path from Victor’s Village to the Town. When I could no longer see him, I grabbed my father’s leather hunting jacket and jogged to the fence.

Hunting always cleared my head. I could think easier surrounded by the trees and the sounds of nature, though I usually used it as an escape to think about nothing at all. It had something to do with knowing I was absolutely alone, literally the only person for miles.

“You’re late, Catnip.”

Except for Gale, who was bent over one of his snares, removing the rabbit he had caught. I didn’t mind share my private haven with the other teen. Gale and I were a lot alike. Stubborn and willing to do whatever necessary to take care of our siblings.

Gale’s presence meant that it was Sunday, as it was the only day he had off work from the mines, and that I was really out of it because I had lost track of the days. 

“Gale,” I greeted. His dark head popped up at my terseness.

“You sure you’re up for hunting, Katniss? You look pale.”

Gale’s words gave me pause. Not because he was the second person in the space of an hour to tell me I looked wane, but because he called me by name. He rarely ever called me by Katniss.

“It’s nothing,” I said, threading my arm through the strap on the back of my quiver and letting its familiar weight settle across my back.

“Don’t pull that crap with me, Catnip,” he said, bagging the rabbit. “We talk about everything. You know you can tell me anything.”

“It’s nothing,” I repeated. “Just stupid Victor stuff.”

Gale’s face closed off. In uneasy silence he reset his trap and moved light on his feet to the next one. I didn’t know why he was upset, but I wasn’t eager to find out. Chances were it dealt with the Capitol and I didn’t want to hear another one of his rants about the Capitol’s injustice. Not when I knew Snow was capable of taking Prim from me if I so much as looked at him wrong.

With the anger practically rolling off my hunting partner in waves, I found myself distracted, only managing to shoot one small quail and a squirrel. I made quick tracks back to my house when we called an end to our hunting for the day, leaving before Gale could argue about my two kills that were still in his bag.

I thought the day couldn’t get any worse. Lack of sleep from nightmares. Effie and the Capitol were breathing down our necks. And now I had managed to upset Gale, the one person who didn’t remind me of the Games every time we were in the same space.

Then I found Peeta’s door locked when I went over after dinner. I shouted and threatened, but he refused to let me, claiming that today wasn’t a good day and we could do it sometime next week.

I was worried. It wasn’t like Peeta to go back on his word. So I went around the side of the house and hefted myself through the open window. Peeta always had at least one open. Said the house felt stuffy otherwise.

I found him in the first place I look, the kitchen, nursing a bruise on the left side of his face with a frozen bag of peas. Involuntarily, I gasped, and Peeta whirled to face me, dropping his makeshift ice pack.

“Katniss?” he asked in bewilderment. “How did you get in? I didn’t hear the door.”

“That’s because I didn’t use it,” I said smartly, stepping forward with a raised hand and freezing when Peeta took a step backward. “What happened, Peeta? Who did that?”

He mumbled incoherently, eyes not meeting my gaze. Taking care to move slowly, I reached out for him again. This time he didn’t move away. I gently brushed the pad of my thumb over the darkening bruise. It ran along his cheekbone. It was an abnormally straight marking, not the result of someone striking him with a hand.

Oddly, I found myself recalling Peeta’s words as he left. _My mother is going to kill me for being so late._ I felt furious. I hadn’t like it when she had slapped him for burning the bread that night, but what possible reason could she have had to hit him today? Certainly not just because he was running behind schedule?

“I’m going to kill her,” I growled, marching towards the front door. I was halted by Peeta’s warm hand on my wrist.

“Please, Katniss. You’re not a murderer.”

“The fact that I’m standing here says otherwise,” I said flatly, not impressed with his defense.

“It’s not worth it. Let it go.”

“Let it go?” I shrieked, enraged. “She hurt you!”

“I know. I was there.” I scowled at him furiously. Peeta sighed, dragging his free hand over his face. “Look, it’s not a big deal. I’ll stay away for a few days and she’ll calm down.”

I was torn between wanting to tear Mrs. Mellark to pieces with my bare hands and comforting Peeta. Despite his claims, I could see the pain in his eyes.

I twisted my wrist so I could grab him and drag him over to the couch, scooping up the bag of frozen vegetable along the way. I pressed him down onto the cushions, kneeling on the seat next to him and reapplying the cold package to his bruise.

“You shouldn’t let her hit you,” I whisper.

“Let?” he asks, amused of all things.

“I know you can defend yourself.”

Peeta sighed a second time. “I can’t hit my mother.”

“But it’s alright for her to hit you?” Rage filled me. Peeta was the sweetest person. He didn’t deserve a mother willing to take a rolling pin to him.

“Just drop it, okay? I don’t want to talk about.”

I thought about calling him a hypocrite. It was only this morning that he forced me to talk about my ever present nightmares when I didn’t want to. Instead I curled up against him, tucking myself under his arm and resting my head on his shoulder.

“You promised me a night with nightmares,” I said in response to his bemused look. A night on the couch would be uncomfortable. Both our backs would definitely be feeling it in the morning, but I wasn’t leaving Peeta alone.

“So I did.” He tightened his arm around me. Faster than I thought, I was lulled to sleep by the steady thump-thump of his heartbeat.


	7. Chapter 7

Peeta’s smile was bright. “Sleep well?”

I yawned widely; jaw cracking, not quite comprehending that he had spoken. The bruise on his face had darkened to a deep blue-purple color. The sight of it ignited my fury once more.

Peeta recoiled when I stood, determinedly stuffing my feet into my boots.

“Wait, Katniss. Where are you going? Don’t run away because you had a nightmare.” His voice followed after me. Uncaring of his pleas to stay and talk, I stomped across the lane to my house.  My mother kept her healing herbs in a designated cabinet in the kitchen.

I rustled through the shelves, thankful that the glass jars were labeled. Prim spent hours pouring over the plant book our father had made, enough that she could recognize each one on sight if I ever brought her out to the woods. I was less familiar with them, knowing only where patches of them already grew. But I had suffered enough bruising and welts when first learning to hunt from the bowstring slapping the inside of my arm to know which plants worked best.

Unfortunately, that plant is best harvest towards the end of June, right before the Reaping, when it is riskier to sneak under the fence. In the interest of not upsetting Peacekeepers that want to be seen doing their jobs during the most important time of the year, Gale and I limited our hunting time to two hours. However much my mother had, it wouldn’t be enough for Peeta’s contusion.

Parsley was the best alternative, and I knew there would be plenty to spare. Hell, Peeta probably had more than I did, being a baker. I located the jar of parsley, scooping up a mortar and pestle for crushing them from the drawer underneath the cabinet, and rushed back to Peeta’s house.

The third son of the baker had locked his door again, and a quick check of the window proved it to be shut and locked as well. In hindsight, storming out of his house without a word wasn’t the best choice.

“Peeta! Open the door, Peeta!”

I waited several moments, listening intently for the sound of his unequal footsteps. They didn’t come. “I’ll break a window if you don’t let me in!” I shouted. To prove it, I plucked a pebble from the walkway, tossing it lightly so that it pinged against his living room window.

Peeta’s tread was thunderously loud. He wrenched open the door far enough that I could have entered, had he not blocked it with his body. “Don’t,” he said shortly. “Someone in the district would get blamed for destroying Capitol property.”

I glowered at him, caught off guard by his brusque attitude. “What’s your problem?”

“Nothing. I just figured you wouldn’t be coming back. Besides, I’d rather be alone right now.”

I wanted to smash the jar of parsley, which I was clutching with a white-knuckled grip. Peeta’s hot and cold behavior was pissing me off. He says he’s okay if it takes time for me to figure out how I feel but avoids me for a week afterwards. He asks for a second chance only to turn around and brush me off and deny me entrance.

“You know what? Fine. Do whatever you want. Take these,” I said, thrusting the jar and mortar and pestle into his chest. “Crush the parsley into a fine powder and add enough water to make it paste-like. A week should be long enough to get rid of that bruise.”

I turned on my heel, not bothering to look back as I finished speaking. “Don’t worry about returning them.”

Stalking up the stairs, quietly so as to not wake Prim or my mother, I threw myself upon my bed. My chest felt tight and I struggled to breathe normally. Clearly, Peeta and I would never work out. We could hardly go three days without one of us trying to retreat from this relationship.

I rolled over, curling a fist into the blanket. Peeta would rather be alone, would he? That was fine. It was careless of me to forget that we barely knew each other. What little trust we had was built on our temporary partnering in the arena so we could both get out alive. I paid him back for the bread. Now there were no debts between us.

* * *

There was a plate of cheese buns in the kitchen when I rose for the second time. I stared at them, disbelieving. I didn’t need handouts from him. Did Peeta think he could give me food and I would run back to him? He blew the second chance he asked for. I wouldn’t give him a third because he made me cheese buns.

I tossed the baked goods in the trash, and the plate too, then took a page out of his book and promptly locked the door and all the first floor windows.

“Katniss? Are you locking the windows?” Prim stands on the bottom step, frowning in confusion.

I don’t have an explanation, not one that she would accept. If I told her Peeta and I were done she would be upset. In the short time we’ve been back, Prim has come to look at him like an older brother. Peeta doesn’t mind talking to her. He indulges her. I allowed it, because she smiled around him, like she used to before she was reaped.

I had never been an emotional person. I didn’t have time for feelings. I had to feed my family and Gale’s family. But, now that I had gone to the Capitol where I pretended to be thrilled to volunteer and participate in the Games, I could tell when Prim was acting.

Around me, her smiles were a little less real. She smiled just as wide, but they were dimmed somehow.

So I lied to her. “Yeah. I saw—I thought I saw a . . .”

“Katniss?” She comes to stand before me, picking up my hands in hers. Unwillingly, I jerk them away. Now her blue eyes are swimming with concern. “Are you alright? What did you see?” Prim aborts a move to touch me, to give me comfort, and hate bubbles in me. I hate that I’ve scared her, made her feel that I can’t stand even her familiar touch.

“A dog,” I choked out, suddenly remembering the nightmare I had on the train where Mutts of Gale and Cato killed Peeta. I flinched violently when I then thought of Cato’s screams as the Mutts fed on him where his suit didn’t offer protection. “I thought I saw a wild dog.”

My sister’s sweet features immediately morph into understanding. She’s only aware of the Mutts in the finale, but that’s more than enough for her to believe my pathetic lie.

This time I pull her towards me. Prim leans into my hug. “I’m okay, little duck,” I whisper, running my hair down the back of her head and gently tugging on the braid she has tucked behind her left ear.

“No you’re not,” she says just as softly. “And you don’t have to pretend either. Not with me.”

“I’m fine. The Games are over.”

“But they aren’t. Not really. You still have the Victory Tour. And next year . . .”

Prim doesn’t finish, but my mind automatically fills in the rest. Next year I’ll be a mentor. It’s going to be horrible. There’s no way I’ll be able to keep some scared kid alive. Peeta, Haymitch, and I are rare. Most people in District Twelve don’t have the skills nor the drive to survive. And because of our stunt, Snow is sure to guarantee that next year’s tributes will die quickly and painfully. Of course, it will also be dramatic, because next year is the 75th Games and the third Quarter Quell. Every twenty-five years the Capitol celebrates the end of the districts rebelling by holding a specially themed Hunger Games. They involve twists that make the Games more disastrous and difficult and deadly.

For the first Quell, the districts had to choose, voting on which children to send into the arena. And in the last one, twice as many children were reaped. Caesar Flickerman is partial to that Game and references it often, complete with accompany video. The bloodbath that year was brutal. Next year, Snow might demand only thirteen year olds can be reaped. Volunteering in Prim’s place may not be enough to keep her safe. The whole of Panem knows how much she means to me. To Snow, my sister is a pawn he can use to keep me in line, because I will do anything to protect her.

“You let me worry about that, little duck. The Tour’s not for several months. You won’t even have time to miss me.”

Suddenly, Haymitch’s outrageous consumption of alcohol made sense. Anything that numbed the mind would be a welcome distraction. I had nothing to fight against the reminders of the game.

Except for the woods. The woods were my sanctuary. And better yet, there wouldn’t be any cameras beyond the fence. Out there I could be just Katniss, a girl with a bow. Not the Girl on Fire.

* * *

I immediately breathed easier once I was on the other side of the fence. The familiar scents of the forest, along with the ever present smell of coal, was a balm to my nerves.

Just a few feet inside the tree line was a partially hollowed pine. Hidden within were my bow and quiver and a couple of bags to carry game. I retrieved the bow, trailing fingers down every curve and grain. The Capitol’s longbow was extremely efficient, producing more power from a reduced draw weight. It was a weapon designed for killing, opposed to my hunting bow.

I hefted my bow and quickly gauged the bowstring. It had been several days since I snuck beyond the district’s borders. Finding no evidence of having been chewed by the forest’s denizens, I set off deeper into the trees.

I moved quickly but quietly. Any bears, thankfully, would be further in than I planned to venture today, but there was a pack of wild dogs that patrolled the woods. Not trusting my ability to not panic if faced with them, I was careful to watch for dog tracks and didn’t travel in the same direction.

Over the course of two hours I shot and killed a wild turkey and two squirrels. Feeling pleased, and much less stress than I had been after the events of this morning, I headed back to the fence. The turkey would go to the Hawthorne’s. Normally, the squirrels would go to Mr. Mellark, but after the last two days, I wanted nothing to do with the baker’s family. His wife should consider herself lucky that I can’t bring my bow inside the district, elsewise she’d be the one with an arrow through the eye.

Greasy Sae could always use fresh meat. Her stews were the best tasting dish that could be found in District Twelve. She could make squirrel taste like something extravagant, even to me and I knew I what I was eating.

I weaved through the tightly packed Hob, setting the game bag down on Sae’s counter. “Two squirrels,” I announced. “They aren’t particularly fat.”

“But they’ll do,” Greasy Sae said once I removed them from the bag. She eyed the still present bulge appreciatively. “What else you got hidden in that bag?”

“For Gale,” I said in lieu of an answer. The older woman nodded, understanding. Everyone in the Seam knew that he now worked in the mines. They also knew what that meant for his family. Being a miner paid the absolute minimum it took to keep the shafts open and teeming with workers. Thing was, most people working the coal mines were so poor they accepted the pittance they received gratefully.

But that was nowhere near enough to feed a family of five. Gale continued to grumble about how it was his job to see that his family had food, but I was stubborn. So he grudgingly relented, though I knew he was secretly gratefull.

“Then you best get going,” Sae advised, gripping the squirrels by the tail and fishing a handful of coins out of her apron. I pocketed them and stood, shouldering the still full game bag. “Now, don’t be a stranger just because you’re one of them Victors, ya hear?”

I left without replying. It was disconcerting, being viewed as a Victor even by the people of District Twelve. We never cared for the games. We watched because viewing was mandatory. Afterwards, we forgot about the Games. Put them out of mind until the temperature warmed and the Reaping rolled around again.

I hadn’t even planned to win, yet here I stood nonetheless. I just wanted to protect my sister. Sweet, innocent Prim didn’t belong in the ruthless and fake Capitol. Though she would have charmed everyone, the arena would have destroyed her. Prim was meant to heal, not fight.

Part of me wishes that I had died in that arena. Prim would have been devastated, but she would have been safe. Instead, my stunt with the berries painted an invisible target on her back. I have no doubts that Snow wouldn’t hesitate to threaten her.

They may have said I won, placed a crown upon my head to raucous cheering while I was dubbed a Victor, but the Games were far from over.


	8. Author's Note

Obviously this is not a chapter.

I have a roommate who was having computer issues. I lent her my flash drive, where I saved all my unfinished story chapters, plot bunnies, research, everything on. I was thinking, since I’ve seen author’s notes all the time who have lost all their work and had to start over. I thought, by saving it on a flash drive, that that would never happen to me. I literally only saved word documents and pictures. But then I lend my roommate my flash drive and the stupid bitch of a tech she called to helps formats my flash drive, despite being told not to because a warning message said I’d lose all my files. And then I spent four hours trying to contact anybody in Microsoft with brains, only to be told they don’t have the technical skills required to recover my files and that and I quote “to be honest, once you have formatted your files on your flash drive there is no way to recover it manually.”

News flash assholes, I didn’t. One of your agents screwed up and you’re not doing a damn thing to fix it.

So despite my best efforts to never be in this situation, I find myself here none the less, having to rebrainstorm, replot, and basically rewrite 11 currently in progress stories and one that I had start and wasn’t ready to post yet.

This is really frustrating, because I honestly just found the time and motivation to sit down and write again after everything that happened with my dad, and now I have to start over.

So, if you don’t hear from me for a while, it’s because I have to start from scratch. Because I can’t afford to pay Best Buy $250 to ship my flash drive out for recovery for several weeks with no guarantee that they can recover my files.

I feel horrible. I had a good cry fest over it. But my hands are tied. I found a local computer repair store will to give it a try for $100, which is better but still pretty steep at the moment. And honestly, if it came down to that, I’d rather start over again and not spend so much money.

I just . . . bear with me please. If any of you write or know someone that does, tell them to back up their files. This is the most soul crushing feeling.


End file.
